Five Stages
by Donatello8696
Summary: Ponyboy's gone, and Soda's not dealing. Side-fic to Losing Forever.
1. Denial: Empty Promise

**This is a side fic to my story Losing Forever. I guess you could call it a sequel, either way. I appreciate all the reviews that I received on Losing Forever, thanks to all the readers! This story is going to have five chapters following the 5 stages of death. I got the idea from Scrubs a while ago (XD) and I had to keep it in my brain for future writing. By the way, this story is going to be in second-person perspective, like the previous story.**

**Well, here it is. Hope you like!**

**Disclaimer: Do not own the Outsiders or the five stages of death.**

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"I'm home!" you call as you walk over the threshold, kicking off your shoes and sending them in various directions. You'll find them later.

"Yeah, Soda, in here!" you hear from the hallway. Taking off your cap and tossing it on the tattered couch, you make your way past the mess in the living room and walk through the hallway into your room. Upon entering it, you smile at the person sitting at the desk and flop down, somewhat exhausted from a day's work, onto the bed.

"What are you doin', stayin' cooped up in here, Pone?" you say, laying on your side and propping yourself on your elbow and facing your brother. "Thought you'd be out with Two-Bit or Steve. You should be out having fun now that school's out. Not trying to finish another book report."

Pony turns and hangs one arm over the backrest of the wooden chair, closing the book on the finger marking the page. You lift your head slightly and lean your head over a bit, scanning the front of the book. When you see the title, you go back into your original position with a sigh. "Again, Pone? You must've read that book a million times."

Pony scoffs and brings the book to his lap, examining it. "I like it."

"You like it that much?" you say, genuinely surprised. "Enough to read it over. And over. And over. And - "

You laugh as a shirt whacks you in the face.

When you remove the offensive attire, you turn to see him looking annoyed, but smiling a little. "It's a good book. You outta try reading books like this sometime."

It was your turn to scoff, and you adjust your position, folding your arms behind your head and laying back. "I just don't see what so interesting about that book that would make you want to read it again, even though you already know what's going to happen. Where's the fun in that?"

He doesn't answer, but puts the book down, using a slip of paper as a bookmark.

"Where's Darry?" you ask as you realize the absence of your older brother. Pony shrugs.

"You came home early. He's probably still at work." He checks the clock on the wall above your head. "Should be coming home in a bit."

You sigh again and sit up with a grunt. A comfortable silence looms over you and Ponyboy, and you take the time to look at him while he is searching for something in one of the desk drawers. He was getting paler every day, clearly a sign that the kid had not been getting out in the sun enough. The bags under his eyes were becoming more noticeable. You grimace as you remember the nightmares he used to have, and vaguely you wonder if he's keeping something from you. Either way, the kid was not getting enough rest.

Scratching your head, you speak up. "Y'know, Pone, it's been a rough year. For all of us. What with... Johnny and Dallas and that whole Bob Sheldon deal. And Dad and Ma." He doesn't speak, and you take it as a time to continue. "You're also working too hard. I was just thinking we could take a break from Tulsa, get away from all the Soc/Grease crap, now that it's summer."

He looks up, the open drawer forgotten, a small glimmer in his eye. "You mean..."

You smile. "Yeah. I'm going to talk to Darry about it tonight. He should agree; Lord knows he could also use a break from work. Maybe next week, we could go to the country and go hunting, like we used to. Or have a camping trip. What do ya say?"

He grins. "You mean that?"

You nod. "Sure do, kiddo. Promise." You smile wider at the happiness that lit up in his face.

"Soda?"

You glance up at the doorway, startled. You then chuckle in embarassment as you realize it was only Darry. You didn't even hear him come in. "Oh, hey Darry." You stand up. Darry takes a step into the room, keeping his eyes on you. You frown at the fact that he hadn't even acknowledged your younger brother. You turn to Ponyboy, and he shrugs in response. You look back at Darry, who was looking more and more bewildered.

"Soda, who were you talking to?"

Now you're confused. "What are you talking about? I was talking to Ponyboy," you say, pointing without looking at where your brother was currently sitting.

Darry follows where you are pointing, but his reaction was not what you expected. He looks back at you, and you can see the wetness in his eyes and the raw grief on his face.

"Soda..."

Getting frustrated and annoyed at your brother, you gesture angrily toward Ponyboy again, turning to face him. "Look, he's right - ." You stop. Because what you're looking at doesn't agree with your eyes. The chair where Ponyboy had been sitting was pushed into the small space under the desk, vacant and empty, and collecting dust. And the open drawer was now shut tightly, untouched. _Gone With the Wind_ is gone, too. And so is Ponyboy.

With a sharp exhale of air, you back up, only stopping when you hit the wall. And as you slide down to meet the floor, the mental walls that you worked so hard to put up for (you remember now) five months came crashing down. And so you do, meeting the ground with a hard thud. You let out a shaky breath and bring your knees up, clutching your hair.

_Pony's gone. _One wall down. _He's fucking gone. _Another. _I saw him die. _Getting closer.

Darry sits down next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, the other going around and meeting the first in front of you, bringing you close. You feel something warm hit your hand and slide down your wrist, your arm.

"Little buddy..."

Final words. Final walls. The pain comes clawing back, ripping through your chest, your skin. Tears pour out from your eyes, soaking through Darry's shirt as you bury your face in his shoulder. The sobs push against your throat, agonizing, yet relieving. All Darry can do is rock you in the best way he can to show comfort and resting his head on yours while trying to keep back his own cries.

And all you can think of is the empty promise you had just made to your dead brother.

Because he isn't there.


	2. Anger: Better Off

**Okay, first off, thank you to all the readers and reviewers on my first chapter! It really meant a lot to turn on my laptop and find that I got favorite authors, author alerts, story alerts, favorite stories, and reviews all in the span of one day! You guys have no idea that means to me, so thank you all!**

**Second, this is the second chapter, therefore the second stage of death: anger. So I guess you might have a vague ideaof what's going to happen. Let's see if you're right! =)**

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You watch dully as the thin smoke puffing from your lips evaporates in the autumn wind completely, leaving you staring at the same street you had been staring at for the past hour or so. You lost track of time a while ago. The long drag you just took calms you down some, but it only lasts a while before the hand holding the cigarette starts shaking again.

Socs. They were the cause of all this. They were the cause of almost everything that had happened to you. You suppose it started with Bob Sheldon. Yeah, the Socs were bad even before that Sheldon kid got wasted, but Sheldon was the main starting point of this whole mess. If him and his buddies hadn't tried to kill Ponyboy in the fountain, Johnny wouldn't have had to use that blade against him to save him. Then they wouldn't have had to escape to Windrixville for that awful week, and they wouldn't have gotten in that church fire with Dallas.

You sigh as you remember. You almost lost your brother that day, and boy, were you relieved when they called you down to the hospital to find Ponyboy, ashed-faced and exhausted, but otherwise unharmed and alive. You could've lost your brother that day. But no, life decided to be a bitch and gave you only a couple more months before snatching him away again, this time for good. Once again, by the hand of a Soc.

Goddamned bastards.

"Soda?"

You don't acknowledge the timid whisper, but instead take another drag from your cigarette. Hard footsteps walk on the wooden porch toward you and stop, and you can make out a blurry outline of Steve out of the corner of your eye. He sighs and leans on the railing along with you.

Silence.

God, you can't take this silence. You wish like mad that he would say something, anything, just to break it. But at the same time, you think you might take a swing at him if he starts talking. So, you remain quiet as he struggles with his words.

"You okay?" Wow. Famous first words. And a pretty stupid ones at that. Steve seemed to realize his mistake and backtracked. "What I mean is... I mean..." Unable to put words together, he stopped, sighing.

"Are you ever going to say anything or are you just going to stand there and make me wait until your tongue is untied?" you snap, turning your head toward him and glaring. For a moment, you feel satisfaction at the look of hurt on his face. You didn't want to be the only one in pain, and at this point slight pain, even if it was just emotional, was good enough.

You retort seems to give Steve the courage to say what was on his mind, because he says, "Listen, Soda. This has got to stop, alright? This behavior aint normal, 'specially for you! I know you're hurting about Ponyboy and all, but - "

"Is that what this is about?" you cut him off, standing up straight and walking over to Steve. "Ponyboy? Why do you care anyway, Steve? Why do you care about Ponyboy so much now? Because he's dead, is that it? Are you _glad _that he's gone?" Your voice is rising without your noticing, and before you know it you're shouting.

Steve's expression was stoic throughout your outburst, but at the last accusation he froze, then he became widly bewildered. "What are you talking about? Of course I aint glad he's dead, I - "

"That's bullshit! You never gave a damn about him, did you? You never cared!" You're shrieking hysterically at this point, but right now all you wanted was to make your point across.

Steve tried to speak. "Soda, Ponyboy's in a - "

"In a better place, is that what you're trying to say?" you say, your voice deadly low. "He's better off dead, is that it? He shouldn't be dead, he should be here, with us! He was _home _here! He's _not _better off dead!"

It was silent now, with the exception of your hard breathing. You're still glaring at Steve, who was just staring back at you. Unable to look at him anymore without wanting to wrap your hands around his throat, you instead avert your eyes to the porch underneath your feet. It was silent for a moment longer before Steve spoke again.

"Soda, in this part of town, anybody's better off dead," Steve said. "Now, Pony was a good kid. Smart and all, he could've gone somewhere. But that doesn't mean he was ever gonna leave this town forever. He would've come back, back to all the nightmares and torture we've been dealing with since we were kids. Anybody is better off dead in our part of town."

You are quiet during Steve's speech, waiting until he stops. He doesn't understand. He'd never lost anyone in his life. His mother had died when he was only a baby, so he'd never met her and he'd never had any sort of connection to her. You, on the other hand, lost your mother and father in one day, and not even a year later, your brother too. Of course Steve doesn't understand. He doesn't understand _shit_.

After a minute of silence on your part, Steve gave up with a sigh, and you just stared at the porch, watching out of the corner of your eye as his boot-clad feet walked down the steps and away from your house. When you next look up, he's long gone, and it's nearly dark out.

You let out a loud swear and fling your forgotten cigarette in the yard and stomp back inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

You try your best to ignore the red-orange gleam of the sun, marking the time as Ponyboy's favorite time of day.

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**Second chapter and stage done! Soda's been in denial, now he's been angry. Next chapter is bargaining. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!**

**Review!**


	3. Bargaining: Scent

**Hm... stupid rain spoiled my mood today. I swear, every time it rains, I know whatever I was looking forward to that day is always going to be cancelled or delayed. Here's what happened: Earlier this week my dad told me that we were going to go horse-back riding at a farm on the weekend. I love horses, so I was really excited. Around the same time, my friend called and told me that we were going to have a sleepover at another one of our friend's house on Saturday, so I had that to look forward to too. I woke up the morning my dad said we were going to go to the farm, look out the window and see**_** everything **_**is wet. So much for riding. I thought I would be able to have fun at the sleepover at least, but then about an hour later, my friend called and said it was going to be moved to next week, because she and another friend had pissed their parents off and therefore were not allowed to go, and I didn't really want to go by myself, so that was cancelled too.**

**Great. So I have nothing to look forward to this entire weekend except to finish my homework. Whoopie. **

**So I just came on the computer and typed this third chapter. I was in the right mood, so I was more motivated to write this out. This is the third chapter, therefore the third stage of the five stages of death: bargaining. Hope you like!**

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You lay in your bed, content in your dreams. Subconsciously, he feel your arm is not around something, and on instinct you reach out and wrap your arm around your brother, pulling him close, even in sleep. It's second nature now, the way you make sure Ponyboy is right next to you at all times as you sleep.

It feels good to you to know that you were protecting him.

But this morning, your arm was around something soft, not the firm body you were so used to holding.

This was part of the routine that you followed every morning; hold Ponyboy, wake up, realize it's not Ponyboy, and then recite a chant in his mind. _Please. Just let it be him. Let me hold him one last time. Please, I swear to you, God. I'll be a better brother, a better example for him. I'll go to fuckin' church if I have to! Just please let him be here with me._

But your words are always in vain, as every time you do open your eyes every morning, you find you're holding not your brother, but his pillow.

You sniff, a small tear leaving you as you lean forward and smell the soft cloth.

You can still smell that Ponyboy scent.

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**Sorry it's so short you guys. I just couldn't find a lot to write on for bargaining, and this is as close as I could think of for it. Next chapter is definitely going to be longer though, so keep watching out for updates! **

**Review please!**


	4. Depression: Blame

**Got this chapter typed up at last! =D And I'm early on this one too! I'm trying to keep up with the update schedule and I'm just getting started here. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Outsiders or Five Stages of Death.**

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"Soda. Come on, little buddy, you need to eat something," Darry pleads with you.

You pay no heed to his words, choosing instead to stare at the crack in the wall that you have found fascinating for the last few hours. This has become your new routine: you wake up, and then you just stay in bed, getting up only when you had to go to the bathroom, take a shower, or eat if you were really hungry. Today, you weren't hungry.

"Soda, please."

"I'm not hungry."

The familiar phrase rolls of your weary, dry tongue with ease. Before, Darry would continue to insist that you eat, no matter what it took. Darry was smarter now. If he accomplished getting you to talk, there was nothing else he could do. He sighed in defeat, rubbed your blanket-clad arm comfortingly and stood, stepping out of the door.

Moments later, the sound and smell of bacon sizzling fills the quiet house.

You pay no heed.

As the clack of a plate meeting the table sounds, you fall asleep.

xxx

Steve and Two-Bit had come by earlier. You were awakened by the usual slamming of the screen door and Darry ordering them to keep it down. Smacking your lips, you wince as you realize how dry your mouth is. Trying to clear your throat, you pull back the covers and get out of bed at last.

But as you hadn't gotten out of bed all day, or maybe since yesterday (you cant keep track of time or care much about it anymore), you awkwardly stumble as you stand and rest one hand on the wall to help you walk until the dizziness passed. You can hear Steve and Two-Bit talking in the living room. You know that they'll want to talk to you if you reveal yourself to them, but you're not feeling up to it. You're able to make it into the bathroom without being detected, but you're sure that you won't be able to avoid Darry or the others once you leave.

You turn the faucet on, hands eagerly splashing water on your face. You take a small sip of the sink water after your hands are clean. The cold water pricked your dry tongue and throat sharply and you cleared your throat again, more effectively this old habits kick in and you glance into the mirror, running a hand through your hair.

The rip in your chest stabs you again and you can't help but let out a choked sob, bringing your mouth up to cover the noise. Frantically you reach over, nearly breaking the light switch in your crazed attempt to turn it off. The tightness in your chest loosens as the darkness envelopes you.

You really can't help it.

It was like looking into his face.

_"Man, your brother is one doll. I might have guessed you were brothers - you look alike."_

_"You know, you look an awful lot like Sodapop, the way you got your hair and everything. I mean, except your eyes are green."_

You grit your teeth. Why did Ponyboy have to go and write that into his theme paper? Back then, you would have grinned with pride and joked with your brother about the possibility of you being twins. Now it's just pure agony and torture.

You wish it was different now. You hate having to look in the mirror and not being able to avoid seeing Ponyboy's face.

xxx

"Sodapop. C'mon, little buddy. You haven't eaten in two days, it's not healthy."

You blink once.

Sigh. "Soda... please."

Silence. The squeak of the bed springs as Darry stood up from the bed and footsteps as he made his way out of the room.

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

Darry paused. You can feel the penetrating stare he's giving you on your skull.

"What are you talking about?"

It's your turn to sigh. "This is all my fault. I was supposed to bring him home. I was supposed to protect him." You take in a deep, shuddering breath, trying in vain to blink back the hot tears in your eyes. "He wasn't supposed to _die_," you sobbed.

Behind you, the bed sank as Darry lay down on it, and you sobbed again as he put an arm around you, running his hand down your arm. Desperate for comfort, you roll over until you're facing your older brother, crying into his shoulder. Darry only rubs your back, his composure strong and silent. Vaguely, you wonder how he did it. He was mourning, but he hadn't been as out of it as you had. You wish you were as strong as him.

"Listen to me," Darry says in a soft soothing tone. The painful cry that emmits from your throat nearly makes it impossible for you to stop crying now. It was similar to when you couldn't stop crying that night Ponyboy was murdered. It felt good to cry.

"Soda, it's okay. Stop cryin' a moment and listen, 'kay?" Darry commands gently. You gasp, trying your best to hold in a fresh sob, and, trembling, you look up at Darry's face.

"Listen... There was absolutely nothing you could have done, you hear?" Darry says firmly. "You couldn't have known it was going to happen."

"Th-they had it out for h-him," you cut in, quivering fiercely and fighting to talk clearly plast the lump in your throat. "A-After the W-Windrixville thing, they h-had it out for him. I-I-I should've known-n it was -"

"You couldn't have known," Darry replies patiently. "It would've happened at any time. There was no way you could have anticipated this."

"E-Eith-ther way," you answer, determined to find a way for this to be your fault. "I sh-should've protected him."

"Soda, you were cornered by more than seven Socs. You said it yourself." Darry strokes your touseled hair. "You were injured too. I'm proud that you were trying to hardest to get to him. I'm glad that at least you were trying to help him. But what happened happened. And nothing was your fault, 'kay?"

You shut your eyes as you sob again, nodding. Darry just doesn't understand. It was clearly your fault. How could he not see that? How can he be proud? You didn't save Ponyboy. It was your duty to protect him and you failed. It just had to be your fault. But you nod anyway, wanting to convince Darry that you understood even though you didn't. Darry says nothing more and just lays there with you. His prescence alone was enough to comfort you, and you continue to cry, and Darry allows you.

You remain this way until you fall asleep again.

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**I'm a sucker for heartwreching stories. :I Next chapter is going to be the final stage: Acceptance. =) The update schedule will be updated tomorrow. So check it out for the next date set for Five Stages and other favorite stories. =D**

**Review please!**


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